Old Music and Apple Pie
by WatsonsWarrior
Summary: Out of all the people Dean Winchester had run into, he wasn't sure he had ever found one that intriqued him from the beginning like the dark haired cook did. He had to admit, it was a little more than admiration for Castiel's best apple pie. (AU!, Cas works at a diner, Dean has a thing for him. Written for something on tumblr)
1. Chapter 1

Written for this post on tumblr: "_Do you think he makes pie? I bet he makes a mean pie." And at first it's just an innocent crush. The guy does make great food after all, and sometimes comes out to talk to customers and sometimes gets this small smile he tries to hide when someone complements his cooking. Dean knows because he watches him joke with Jo, Dean's friend on the waiting staff...(cut the rest to keep from spoiling it)_

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything related to it. FYI: Un-beta'ed._**

"Yeah yeah, I know. I know, Bobby. Yeah, I'll work the late shift tomorrow night if I can get someone to cover for me this afternoon," Dean said, sighing into the phone as he shrugged apologetically at Jo. She nodded in understanding and motioned that she'd be back, strolling off to take an order from the truck driver who had plunked himself down at the diner bar.

"Benny said he'll work this afternoon," Bobby's voice confirmed over the phone receiver. "He's got a Harley to finish an engine job on."

"Good, okay then. See ya tomorrow," Dean snapped his phone shut. He stretched, pushing his feet out under the booth. His stomach growled at him, a reminder that it was dinner time and he hadn't had anything to eat since early that morning. As if on cue, Jo returned to his table.

"Same ol' same ol'?" She asked, resting her hip on the table.

"Please," Dean said, smiling. He watched her take the slip of paper to the back of the diner, handing it to the dark haired man in the back. Jo exchanged words with him, and he looked up to meet Dean's eyes and smiled subtly. Dean quickly looked away, not expecting to be caught staring. The cook was just an interesting guy, he told himself. When Dean looked back up, he was gone. Dean reminded himself the man did work at the diner and had a job to do, he wasn't just there to chat.

Busying himself with the newspaper and tapping his foot to the music playing in the background, Dean managed to ignore the rumbling protests from his stomach-sort of. The savory smell of cooking food didn't help much. Finally, Jo was bringing his food over and sliding into the booth opposite him.

"Thanks," he managed to squeeze out between large mouthfuls of a diner special, the urban burger. Dean had still yet to figure out exactly how many different meats and condiments the burger consisted of, but it was good, so he didn't question it.

"Long day?" Jo asked, picking at the fries on his plate. Dean shrugged, sipping at his coke.

"We've had a crapload of new people coming in since we bought the garage," he admitted. "Some of them want the weirdest junk on their bikes."

"Weird as in, detailed, or weird as in..weird?" Jo asked.

"Think Dave Evans meets Gene Simmons, but on bikes."

"So, classic?" Jo teased.

"Hey, the music's classic. Can't get much better. The style- to each their own," Dean said, raising his eyebrows and stuffing more burger in his mouth. Jo laughed, grabbing another fry off his plate.

"How's things going here?"

"Oh, ya know," she shrugged. "Not much changes, but it's definitely been a Monday," she said. "A lot of busy people who know what they want and when they want it. But it's all good. Cas has been working longer hours," she said. Dean followed her eyes to the cook across the diner, watching the cook make his way out of the kitchen.

An elderly couple sat in a corner booth by the window. Even a so-called tough-guy like Dean had to admit they were a sight to see. The man had large horn-rimmed glasses and smoked a long pipe. Both he and his wife's jumpers were made in the same faded brown material. Castiel stopped at their table, greeting the couple and setting down the matching plates. Dean could just hear the conversation over the regular hubbub.

"Oh, look at this. Steve, listen to me," the woman said, eagerly patting her husband on the wrist. The old man dropped his paper, sitting up straighter in his seat.

"What?" he snapped.

"Look what Castiel has made us. Isn't he a dear?" the woman affectionately patted the cook on the arm. "It's your favorite, too. Blueberry, Steve." Delicately, she cut the pie and took a small bite. Dean watched in amusement as she closed her eyes and pressed a hand over her heart. A little dramatic, Dean thought. But then again, it was pie. He could sympathize. "Oh dear. Cas, this is superb," she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, "as always." The cook smiled shyly, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Thank you, Mrs. Schmitt!" he said.

"Oh, don't thank me. We should be thanking you," she said, patting him on the arm for what had to be the hundredth time. Cas made his way back to the kitchen, a contented smile on his face.

"That must be one mean pie. Or at least she thinks so," Dean smiled, motioning at the older couple.

"He's so good with people," she said. "He can be awkward sometimes, and quiet, but that's not bad," she said. "It helps having another regular here." Glancing at the clock, she sighed and stood up, grabbing Dean's now clean plate. "Back to work I go."

Pulling a bill from his wallet, Dean dropped it on the table and started to rise.

"Hey, don't go yet," Jo threw over her shoulder.

Dean shrugged and leaned back into the booth, closing his eyes and tapping his foot to the chorus of _Build Me Up, Buttercup _playing in the background.

"Here you go."

Dean sat up. A slice of pie sat on the table in front of him, freshly cut. Jo smiled. "On the house."

"This is why we're best friends," he laughed. Jo returned the chuckle and made her way to the kitchen. As Dean bit into the apple pie, he could suddenly understand why Mrs. Schmitt was so enthusiastic about the pie. It was _really _good-and Dean had high standards for his pie. He'd go as far to say it was one of the best pieces of pie he'd had in a long time. Finishing it off quickly, he washed it down with a sip of coke and sighed.

_ Man. I love pie. _

Dean finally stood, making his way slowly out of the diner. He cast his eyes around the kitchen area to try and catch Jo to say good-bye. Instead of his blond friend, the cook he had been watching minutes ago was at the window. He happened to look up at the same time as Dean passed, and threw a wave at Dean as he left. Dean faltered, going to return it, but he wasn't fast enough and Castiel was turning away, laughing and going to help Jo as she struggled through the kitchen carrying a mountain of dishes.

On the way back to his little apartment, listening to one of his old CDs for the billionth time, Dean found himself thinking about the bashful cook and his apple pie. He had to agree with Jo-ever since Castiel had started working at the diner a couple of months ago, the food was better and customers loved Castiel. Dean could see why- the cook was a good guy, definitely a people person. Dean couldn't imagine him having a mean bone in his body. Plus he made a hell of an apple pie. Dean's stomach mumbling in contentment spoke for itself.

Dean was intrigued by the quiet cook. He saw a lot of different kinds of people, working at the bike shop and as a kid with his dad at a hunting hotspot in Kansas, but he wasn't sure that he had ever seen someone like Cas. Maybe, Dean hoped, he would be able to find out during his almost daily visits to the little town diner, to find out what else Castiel was good at other than making people happy and being an excellent cook.

Mission objective: Meet and learn who the diner's cook really is. Now who, but what. Dean smirked to himself as he opened the door to his apartment, made his way to the fridge to grab a beer and settled down on the couch with the television remote.

* * *

Dean had to admit the only reason he hadn't thrown a wrench at someone in the shop the next afternoon- or at least thrown something in general- was because he wanted to just get through with work. A paint job had gone uncharacteristically wrong that afternoon, and they only noticed the problem once it was too late and they had almost finished.

"Dammit," Bobby said, inspecting the job. "That's about as beautiful as death warmed over," he grimaced. Dean was grateful that Bobby was a decent boss and wouldn't be all over their asses about a screw up like this.

"It was definitely a dumb thing to do, starting out like that…" Benny said, running a hand nervously through his hair.

"That's the understatement of the century," Bobby retorted, although his tone showed his sympathy. Sympathy or not, they'd still have to fix it. "All I can tell you is to get it finished." Dean and Bobby had exchanged a pitiful look before setting to work again, from the beginning.

_ "Get it finished,"_ translated to _"Fix what you screwed over before the customer needs his bike back." _So it was no surprise when Benny and Dean ended up working past store hours, much later into the night than either had planned. Finally they were finished, locking the store behind them on the way out. Dean looked at his watch. It was eleven fifteen-so forty-five short minutes to get to the diner and grab a bite. Dean hurried the impala over the speed limit on the way there.

Jo looked up as the diner bell rang, Dean striding into the empty diner.

"Heya," she said, glancing up briefly from wiping down the counter. "Late night," she commented. He grunted in reply, not keen to explain why he clocked extra hours. The diner was quiet, even for this late at night. Jo saw his questioning look. "Just me," she said. "I was about to close up. You just missed Cas on his way out," she said.

Dean's shoulders dropped slightly, but he straightened up before Jo took notice. Here he was acting like a little school girl. He shrugged.

"Ahh, it's been a long day. I was just gonna grab a sandwich to go." Jo disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a wrapped sandwich. "There ya are," she said.

"Thanks," he said, trading her money for the sandwich. She slid it into the cash register and started locking up.

"Say, haven't seen Sam in a while. Ash was asking about him the other day," she said. Ash was Jo's cousin-or at least, Dean thought so. Ash was a strange guy. A good one, though.

"He's been working with a professor at a college up north," he said. "Working on getting some more fluff for his resume," he said, a smile playing across his face. He was proud of Sammy, going after it and making a life for himself. Law school was good for Sam, and Dean had no doubt his little brother would be one of the best lawyers around one day.

"Sam, all grown up. Sometimes I forget I'm older than him," Jo laughed.

Dean grabbed his sandwich, slowly making his way to the door. "You're telling me! He makes me feel old." Jo laughed. "See ya," he waved over his shoulder.

"See ya!"

Dean finished his sandwich quickly after he got back to his apartment, taking an ibuprofen for the headache that was getting steadily worse, and headed to bed.

Dean had grand plans to sleep in and eat cold pizza for breakfast the next day, until he got a call from Adam, another coworker from the shop.

"Listen, I know it's short notice, but I really need you to cover for me. It's not a long shift, later tonight for a few hours," Adam said, pleading across the phone receiver. Dean glanced at the clock, throwing an arm over his face and rolling into the pillow.

"Fine," he said.

"Thanks, man. I owe you big time," Adam said, relief clear in his voice. Dean scoffed.

"Hell yea you do," he said.

"Six thirty to nine thirty tonight," Adam said. "Thanks again bro."

Dean set his phone on the stand beside his bed, pulling the covers back over his head. He had a feeling this was just going to be a long week. But at least he still had diner trips to look forward to.

* * *

(**AN: Okay so it's a work in progress. I don't expect it to be terribly long, and I'm already working on the second chapter. I really hope y'all enjoy it! Leave me a review. I literally feed off of reports/critics. So please, R&R :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**(AN: Thanks for all the love, you guys! I'm glad you liked the first chapter. I am definitely looking forward to uploading more and seeing where this ends ;) I have a general idea, but as any writer will know, it changes frequently and develops along the way. Anywho, I am giving you a heads up that I am going to be on hiatus from the 11-15/16. I will try to update once more before I leave and have a chapter ready to be posted as soon as I get back. Sorry it'll be a wait, but I promise I'll be back! **

**Anyway, onward to the next chapter! Again, reviews make my day :) all previous disclaimers still apply- I do not, unfortunately, own any of these characters or anything to do with Supernatural, and make no money from this.)**

Dean clocked out, waving at Bobby as he passed the main office and pushed through the shop's front door. Dean tugged his leather jacket closer to him against the invading cold of the night, hurrying to his bike. Dean regretted not bringing the impala, now that the cold front had hit. Nights were starting to get colder and before too long he'd have to trade his thin jacket for a winter coat. Oh well. It gave him an excuse to get hot food and pie at the diner.

Ahh, the diner. Dean had almost gone there for lunch, but being a creature of habit, he had decided to wait until he got off work, knowing that this time he wouldn't be late and would get to do some more investigation into the case of the shy cook.

Dean leaned into corner turn, straightening the bike back out in time to swerve an oblivious couple holding hands and leaning into each other against the cold. Dean wondered if Cas had someone-a girl maybe. Or a guy, who knew? Dean was sure he did. There was no way someone with that sort of demeanor and appearance could be alone. He didn't know Castiel personally-although he hoped to soon-but he saw the embarrassed smile he got when his cooking was complimented, the wide smile he got when he was in the kitchen joking around with the staff.

Dean had watched the gentle creases in Castiel's forehead when the cook was flipping burgers or carrying food. Dean found himself conflicted-he hoped Cas had someone really amazing, someone who would treasure the smile lines and the shy laugh and the good cooking and never take it for granted. But Dean also hoped Castiel wasn't taken, wasn't someone else's yet, and that maybe he could change that for the dark haired cook. Dean almost laughed-he barely knew Castiel, but he could still hope, right?

He parked his bike outside the diner and headed to the door. On an impulse, he stopped before reaching the doors and hesitantly tapped his foot, tugging on the hem of his shirt, straightening his jacket and adjusting where his pants sat around his hips before pushing through the door, subconsciously running a hand through his hair at the same time.

The first thing he realized as he walked into the brightly lit diner was that it smelled like heaven. Not just good food or the smoky smell of a well used, greasy grill-but good… _like freshly cooked pie, _Dean thought. He could place that smell anywhere.

The second thing he noticed was that Jo was nowhere to be seen, probably in the back or something.

The last thing he noticed was the cold blast air dancing across the floor as someone made their way in behind him at the same time that a familiar voice called a greeting across the room. Dean reminded himself that it was okay to reply, and made his way to the old, red bar stool at the front of the room.

"It's Dean, right?" Dean looked up and met Castiel's stormy blue eyes. The cook was leaning his hip against the counter, running his hand through his hair before pulling the black ball cap back on his head, brushing his hair to the side.

"Uhh, yeah. Dean Winchester," he said, sticking out a hand.

"Castiel. You can call me Cas, though. Everybody does," he replied, shaking Dean's outstretched hand. "Jo's told me a lot about you," he said.

"Oh man, all bad things I'm sure," Dean laughed sarcastically. He grimaced on the inside. _That was a weird thing to say, Dean. Way to go. _He chuckled again, hoping Castiel couldn't tell what he was thinking. The cook didn't share Dean's feelings, though.

"Oh, terrible things." Cas smiled crookedly. Dean felt himself visibly relax at Castiel's easy-going tone. "No, no," the cook continued. "She thinks the world of you. Always going on about how you've helped her so many times, stuff like that." Dean raised his eyebrows, feeling his cheeks get hot. He didn't know Jo talked about him. At the next remark from Cas, Dean felt the red make its way from his cheeks and to his ears as well. "She's also mentioned you like pie."

"Well," Dean shrugged casually, trying to think of a good reply. "Absolutely," he managed. "And yours is really good," he added quickly. He watched Castiel's face for his reaction, and was relieved when he saw the same embarrassed (yet flattered) smile he had seen the other day when Cas had received compliments from the elderly lady.

"Thank you," Cas said. "Actually…" Dean watched as the cook disappeared into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a pie pan. The smell of fresh pie increased by a mountainous percent as Castiel set the pan down on the counter. "I've got some fresh," he said. "I didn't make it, but hey-it's pie, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean said. "Pie is pie," he laughed. Castiel grabbed a knife and set about cutting the pie. "Wait," he put down the knife. "Did you want real food? I'm such a bad cook, I forgot to ask! Is there anything you want?"

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'll have, umm…" Dean looked down at the pie, and considered the menu in his head. He smiled up at Castiel. "You know what, no. I'll have pie for dinner."

The cook smiled at Dean and nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Pie it is." Castiel swiftly cut the pie, hesitating only for a second before putting a second piece down on the plate and sliding it to Dean. "Ya know, I'm a strong believer in eating dessert first," Castiel said. Dean grinned, raising the pie to his mouth. "You never know when the world is gonna end, after all!"

Dean swallowed the bite, giving Castiel a nod. "That's the way to think!" Castiel smiled and tucked the pie under a hot towel, heading down the counter to take another customer's order. Dean ate his pie slowly, subtly watching Castiel around the diner. The dark haired man was quick on his feet, picking up orders easily and jotting them down quickly. Dean wondered what Cas' handwriting looked like.

Before too long Dean had finished his pie. Instead of calling Castiel or another member of the small staff over, he watched them work in their element. Cas started a pot of coffee and directed a younger staff member to take out the trash, hurrying back to the stove just in time to flip a sizzling burger. Dean watched him carefully prod it with a knife, and apparently content with the outcome, switched off the stove and forked the hamburger patty onto bread, piling fries alongside it and carrying it to a customer. Castiel caught his eye on the way back to the kitchen and stopped by Dean's seat.

"Finished, then? Want a real dinner now?" Castiel asked.

"Ehh, I'll take some fries and a water," Dean said. Cas nodded quickly, calling the order through the kitchen window. He turned back to Dean. "Somebody else will bring it out in a minute," he said. "I've got to be going."

"Oh, okay. Got somebody special to see?" Dean inquired, trying to keep his tone casual and praying his didn't come off as nosy. His heart was beating faster than normal and it made it harder to coordinate his sentences.

"Who, me?" Castiel pulled his coat on one arm at a time. "Oh no, I don't have a girlfriend." He looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "I've got to take some things to a friend," he explained.

"Cool," Dean said. _That was stupid, too, Dean. 'cool'. What do you even know? _Dean somehow remembered to thank the cook for the pie. "Hey, thanks for the pie. It was nice."

"I'm glad you liked it," Cas smiled. "Later!"

"Bye," Dean said quietly, throwing him a wave. He watched Castiel's retreating back as the cook went into the kitchen, disappearing into the back room for a few minutes before exiting, carrying an armful of as many small to-go sized boxes as he could. Dean watched curiously as he carried a few more loads outside the back door before he actually left. Dean could only wonder what were in the boxes and where they were going.

As Castiel promised, his fries were delivered to him shortly. Somehow it was less fun to sit at the counter and eat them as it had been to eat the pie-maybe the lack of conversation was it.

"Hey punk!"

Dean's attention was snapped to the loud yell from the kitchen. He smiled when Jo exited the kitchen, occupying the same spot Castiel had just left. Somehow, although she filled the physical void of conversation, Dean found himself wishing the pretty, dark haired cook were still there, awkwardly exchanging random bits of conversation with him. Dean couldn't deny he was crushing, and hard at that.

"Hey you," he smiled.

"I see you've replaced me with someone else." Jo motioned to the fries, a teasing look in her eyes.

"Oh yeah," Dean said. "I was hungry," he said. She laughed.

"Sure sure, that's what they all say."

Dean rolled his eyes and popped another fry in his mouth.

"Castiel gave you some pie, then?" she asked. He nodded in return, mouth too full to talk.

"Nice. I'm surprised he stayed long enough that he was still here when you came in," she said.

Dean sipped on his coke. "And why's that?" he asked.

"Tuesdays and Wednesdays are the night he always has off. He gets here super early and works hard so he can cook in-between taking orders, and then in the evening when he gets off, he takes the extras he made and all leftovers down to the homeless shelter on 29th street, right down the road."

"Why?" Dean asked. "Is that like, part of the job, or he just wants to, or what?"

Jo smiled. "That's the thing about Cas. He does it because he cares," she said. "He's a really good guy, Dean." Dean looked up and met her eyes, hearing her tone change. She stared back at him meaningfully. "He's worth a lot to everybody here," she said fondly.

Dean smiled. "I've gathered that. I can see why," he said. Jo eyed him, eyes narrowing slightly, a crooked smile painted on her face.

"What?"

"Not a thing," Jo said, throwing her hands up, still smiling. "Not a thing," she said. Dean frowned and shook his head. Women were confusing. Jo made her way back into the kitchen, returning shortly. Dean had long since finished his fries and sat quietly, thinking and sipping on his drink. Finally he looked at the clock and decided to head back to his place.

"I'm gonna head out," he said.

"'Kay. Be safe," Jo said. Dean nodded, turning to leave. Before he got to the door, he turned.

"Hey, Jo?"

Jo reappeared at the kitchen doorway a moment later. "Yeah?"

"Does umm… Does Castiel work tomorrow?" he asked, feeling the red from earlier returning to his face. Jo smiled knowingly, and Dean thought she heard her mutter something like _"thought so.." _under her breath, but he wasn't sure.

"Yeah, like I said he'll work for a while depending on how busy he is and then take another load up to the homeless shelter." She smiled. "He'll be here."

Dean smiled, nodding. He knew Jo understood, she had for a long time. He found himself still smiling even on the ride to his place, despite the freezing temperatures and cold cutting through his jacket as he rode along the empty streets. Somehow he found the cold on the outside didn't seem to matter when the nights even made him feel so warm on the inside-and Dean was quite sure it wasn't just the apple pie.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So I'm about to leave for my trip so this will be the last update for a week. Sorry guys, but I promise I'll be back. :) Anywho, regular disclaimers apply, I don't own anything. ALSO- I know the last two chapters have sort of been filling fluff, but I've got an idea where this is going and it'll be developing into a deeper plot line. Interesting things to come soon!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Over the next few days, Dean was kept busy at the shop and making impromptu trips to the diner. Over the weekend Castiel had been gone with family, so Dean stayed home and watched bad television and drank beer. He met up with Sammy on Monday and had dinner with him. Sam's work with the professor was close to being done, and Dean listened to his brother go on and on about the plans he had. But Dean didn't mind. He liked hearing Sam's plans, about his girlfriend Jessica and how Sam was planning to propose to her soon. Dean liked Jessica, she was a smart girl. Pretty too.

The next Wednesday, Dean finally had an opportunity to make it back to the diner for the first time in the last few days. When he pulled in, he climbed out of the impala quickly and hurried inside to get out of the late night drizzle. It had been raining off and on for the last few days, only adding to the cold weather's dreariness. It wasn't a bad thing, though. Dean had always loved the stormy weather for whatever reason, feeling the most at home on rainy days when the wind blew just right. Those were the days he would take his bike out and ride wherever he felt like, distorting the town's reflection in the puddles of water collecting in potholes.

Dean pushed through the double doors and into the diner, shaking the rain off his jacket and wiping his feet on the checkered door mat. He stretched, popping his back with a series of satisfying crunches before making his way to the counter.

"Be with ya in a minute," a voice called from the back room. Not Jo, she was out of town. And not Cas, so it had to be Eric. The kid had just started working at the diner and Castiel had taken him under his wing.

Eric was an interesting character-he had a small, twisty handlebar mustache and bright eyes that showed his interest in learning. He wore a black beanie that never left his head, and really looked up to Castiel. If Cas said 'jump', Eric would've said 'how high?' Dean saw him as the kind of kid that would grow old and have a diner of his own.

"So what can I get ya?"

"Hey Eric," Dean greeted him. "I was actually looking for Castiel. Seen him?"

"Umm… Yeah, he told me to finish washing dishes and that he was going to start taking things out to his car," Eric said, slowly making his way back to the kitchen.

"Oh yeah, tonight is Wednesday. I forget. Been a long week," Dean said. Eric threw him a wave and headed back to dish duty. Dean stood up and made his way to the front doors, stifling a yawn. On second thought, as he saw that the rain had only started coming down harder, Dean made a U-turn and headed through the kitchen and out the back door.

The wind outside howled fiercely. Dean pulled his toboggan down closer over his ears and made his way around the corner of the diner to the employee parking lot. He paused when he entered the almost vacant lot, watching as two dark figures scampered (one limped) across the alley and away from the lot. He frowned and continued forward to Castiel's car, only to stop once more, his contented smile falling. Then he was running across the parking lot to the dark figure lying halfway in a puddle on the wet asphalt.

"Hey! Cas, hey. Hey," Dean fell to his knees, asphalt rubbing his knees raw through his jeans, rainwater soaking through the fabric. He cursed under his breath, grabbing Cas under the arms and hauling him up to a sitting position against the car wheel.

A trickle of blood raced down the side of the cook's face, meeting halfway with the red stream running from a busted nose.

"Dammit, Cas."

Castiel put a hand to his nose, grimacing and biting his cheek to hold in a groan of pain but not quite managing to do so. Dean batted Cas' hand away from his nose, pulling a clean shop rag from his back pocket. Despite Dean's efforts to be gentle as he wiped at the sticky red blood on the dark haired cook's face, Castiel still groaned.

The journey back to the diner was made slowly, half dragging Cas across the wet ground. Eric met them at the door, quickly taking Cas' other side. After a few minutes and little argue from Castiel, it was decided that Eric would close up shop while Dean took Cas to the ER just in case. Dean was relatively sure there wasn't anything serious-he had checked. Cas had sat still and without argument as Dean checked for broken bones. He had been more gentle when it came to checking Cas' ribs, glad that Eric had left the room for the moment as Dean pulled the tshirt up to inspect the torso. A line of bruises extended across Castiel's midsection but thankfully there were no broken bones. Even so, Dean insisted on taking him to the ER to check for concussion.

On the way there, Dean glanced over at Cas' still form in the passenger seat of the impala. Castiel had his head against the glass, eyes shut.

"Cas?" Dean asked. The reply was delayed but eventually Castiel's quiet voice permeated the silence.

"I would've fought them off. I could have."

Dean frowned, taking his eyes off the road once more to look at Cas, who had opened his eyes and turned his head to face Dean. "It wasn't your fault," he told Castiel. "You were outnumbered."

"Still," Cas muttered.

"You were outnumbered," Dean said. After a moment, Cas shrugged and let a brief smile cross his face, only disappearing when they hit a bump and Castiel's hand went to his head. He shook it off quickly and turned back to Dean.

"I did manage to do some damage," Cas commented. Dean looked at him questioningly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When they first came up, before they really went after it, I smashed the taller guys leg in the car door."

Dean let out a huff of laughter. That would explain the limping. "Good. Sick bastards deserve it," he said, brow knitting together as he pulled into the hospital parking lot, quickly finding a place near the doors to park. "I will find the sons of bitches, and-" a hand on Dean's arm stopped him. He locked eyes with Castiel.

"Don't, please." Cas licked his lips nervously, a hand still clutched to his side.

"Why not?" Dean unbuckled his seat and opened the door, making to get out of the car, but Castiel's hand kept a tight grip on his leather jacket.

"I don't want you to get hurt, Dean. Yeah, I'm as infuriated as you."

"Doubt that," Dean interjected. Cas continued, ignoring him.

"But I would rather not find them then have you get hurt. I don't care."

Dean shook his head. "Yes you do."

Castiel let his hand fall slowly from Dean's shoulder, and suddenly Dean felt himself missing the contact. He felt childish for admitting it, but it was true. He met the blue eyes staring at him from the passenger seat.

"Dean," Cas said, slowly, as if thinking about what he was going to say before doing so. "I would rather take another beating-well, hell, I'd take as many as I needed to, if it meant you weren't hurt. Please."

Dean frowned. "You mean that?"

Cas smiled, reaching a hand to dab at the trickle of blood reappearing down the side of his face. Dean took that as a yes, and noticing the blood, jumped out of the impala and hurried to the other side to help Cas. Even though they both knew Cas was fine walking by himself, Dean had an arm around Castiel's back and side. He could've sworn he felt Cas lean into it, and felt his breath catch slightly. Maybe he was making it more than it was, and Cas just needed support, and it wasn't anything more, even though that heart-to-heart, chick-flic stuff in the car had got his mind racing.

Whatever the reason, Dean didn't care. He'd be there for support for Cas, or more if the cook let it. As Dean made his way into the ER supporting Cas and settling him into one of the ugly and uncomfortable hospital chairs, all he could think about was that he was grateful his Cas was okay.

Dean wasn't sure when he had started calling Cas his, but he found himself oddly okay with it.

* * *

**AN: Not sure how I feel about this chapter. I like it, but it needs some refining and I honestly kind of crammed it in there while trying to pack and get ready for a week long trip. Sorry it's sorta short, but I already have more of the next few chapters in progress. ;) I will update asap guys. Please review! **

**-Ash**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hey guys :) I'm back, and the trip was awesome! I was so tired I literally slept for about fourteen hours straight. Sorry it's taken me a while to update, things came up and I've had some family things to deal with this past week. Anyway, on the story- I have had a few really.. interesting ideas.. and I am excited to see where they go. I never really know where my stories are going until I get there, ya know. Ehh. **

**Anyway, excuse my rambling. Disclaimer: I definitely don't own Supernatural or make any money off of it. If I did I wouldn't be a poor student. **

**One last thing- on last nights episode: what in the name of all that is good and holy. WHAT.**

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After the incident that night, Dean had sat in Castiel's apartment overnight while the cook slept on the couch. Cas had insisted he didn't need to stay, but Dean had insisted otherwise and had won that war without too much effort. By the time the next Tuesday rolled around and it was the evening Cas would take the food to the homeless shelter, Dean had been able to think the situation over.

He had thought about it all day (and the next day) after the trip to the ER. The way Castiel had responded to the random attack had been abnormally calm, in Dean's opinion, and his response when the police said they hadn't found them was just as collected. It was odd to Dean, but he figured it all up to the fact that Cas was too laid back and nice for his own good.

And then there was the fact that it had all happened so spontaneously. There wasn't anything Dean could think of that would provoke an attack on Cas from anyone-he was a nice guy and didn't get in fights with people, he didn't hang out with any shady crowd-Dean couldn't figure where it had come from. They hadn't been after the food, and Cas' wallet had still been intact when investigated, so that ruled common mugging and thievery out.

Needless to say, all the thinking and pondering on the issue made Dean decide some things. He wasn't going to let Cas go on anymore good Samaritan runs by himself anymore, at least not for the time being. So at promptly ten o'clock on Tuesday, Dean showed up to the diner and offered to help Cas take the food to the shelter. Cas didn't have to say anything, the looks of appreciation he shot Dean were enough. So it began that every Tuesday and Wednesday night, they would make a run to the shelter together and drop the food off.

It was a few weeks later, a Thursday night. Cas hadn't worked Tuesday and had decided to make up for that night by delivering the food Thursday. They pulled up in front of the homeless shelter, making their way inside the dimly lit, small, unsanitary building with the bags of food. Usually they would drop the food at the outside gate, sometimes stopping to talk to the huddle of scruffy men smoking cigarettes outside under a street lamp, but tonight Cas insisted on taking in the food themselves.

"What's so special about tonight?" Dean asked. Cas just smiled and continued in his silent trek down the hall. They delivered the food to the small kitchen, and Dean followed Cas back down the hallway. However, instead of turning back to the exit, Cas made a left turn and walked down the hall, hands in his pockets. Dean noticed he had that excited sort of walk someone gets when they're anticipating something they have been waiting for. He remained silent and followed Castiel down the hall, intrigued to see where this was leading.

Cas stopped in front of a door near the end of the hall and rapped on the door frame, leaning against the wall to wait and shooting Dean a small smile. Dean was about to inquire what exactly they were doing, but he was cut short by the door opening. A short, blonde woman wearing a dirty, faded nurses scrubs opened the door.

"Castiel!" her eyes lit up when they fell on the dark haired cook, and she encompassed him in a tight hug.

"Laura! Good to see you," Cas replied. He motioned to Dean, and Dean gave a small wave. "This is my friend, Dean." He hesitated a moment, and then raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Well? Can I see her?" he asked. Dean's heart thudded in his chest unsurely. 'Her'? Who's 'her'?

Laura nodded, leading them into the room and softly shutting the door behind them. Dean trailed awkwardly behind, feeling out of place and in the dark. Looking around, he took in the room. It was small, with grey walls and a hard tile floor. There was one window with the curtains drawn, on the wall opposite the door. Beneath it was a small bed, covered in out of place colorful bedding-all soft pastels with butterflies and flowers stitched into the comforter. Beneath the covers lay a small girl. Dean would've guessed her to be around seven years old, but she was so frail that it was difficult to say for sure. Her dark curls outlined her pale skin against the pillow she was resting on.

Dean watched silently as Cas sat down on the edge of the bed, gingerly so as not to disturb the girl. She turned her head and opened her eyes as he did so, and a smile flitted across her face.

"Oh, it's you, Cas." Her voice was full of spirit, but was quiet and weak, matching her outward appearance. Cas smiled and patted her knee.

"Hello Dakota. Miss me?" Cas asked. Dakota shrugged.

"Oh, I guess, a little bit."

"Come on now, just a little bit?" Dean smiled at the sad face Castiel tried to pull. Dakota wasn't buying it.

"That's a lot," she said.

"You just said it was a little bit!" Cas teased.

"You know what I mean," she said. Cas shrugged.

"I guess so. Hey, Laura says you've been feeling better," he said. Dakota nodded. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Don't forget that we have a date to make," he said.

"French fries, dipped in icecream, right?" she asked.

"Absolutely! I'm so glad you remember," Cas said, laughing. Dean felt something akin to admiration swell inside him, maybe pride and humility and a sweet, good feeling too. He didn't know what to call it, exactly.

Dakota had stopped giggling at Cas. "Well of course, silly-willy. I can't forget you," she said, moving her tiny hand to rest over Cas'. Something caught her eye. "Hey, what happened to your eye?" she asked, tilting her head sideways. Dean almost laughed-he had seen Cas mimic the exact same questioning head turn millions of times.

"Oh, this old thing?" Cas pointed at the tiny remainder of a cut over his eyebrow. "Oh, it's nothing. Hit my head on a cabinet in the kitchen." Dean glanced quickly at Cas, but his face gave nothing away. Dean knew for a fact that cut hadn't come from any cabinet door, and could remember quite vividly mopping blood from the cut. Dean understood not telling Dakota, though. She obviously cared a lot about Cas, and there was no need to worry her.

Cas quickly switched the subject. "Hey, Dakota. This is my best friend, Dean." Dean started to wave, but Castiel caught him by the sleeve and pulled him close. Dean lingered a moment-he liked the sound of that-he was Cas' best friend. Hmm.

Dakota reached out with the hand she was not using to hold onto Cas with, and Dean shook it gently. It was so odd feeling, the delicate pale hand clasping his long, tan fingers in a firm shake. He had to hand it to her, the girl knew how to shake hands.

"I've heard about you," she said, raising her eyebrows. "Cas said something once, but I don't think he knew you very well. And then I got sick."

"Hmm.. what did he say about me?" Dean asked, sitting in the chair beside the girl's bed. Dean was vaguely aware that Laura had left at some point, unnoticed at first by the chatting group. Dakota smiled a lopsided grin up at Dean.

"Well, I'm not sure I should say."

"Aww, why not?"

"Well, if I must. He said you had started coming into the diner where he works, and you ate a lot of pie, and that you smelled." Dakota stated this with a matter-of-fact tone. Dean pretended to be offended.

"Me? Smell?"

"Oh yes," Dakota nodded her head, "he said you smell like shop grease, leather, and… mmm.." she bit her lip, eyes on the ceiling as if she'd find what she had forgotten written on the wall. "Oh yeah- and open air." She sighed. "I don't know what open air is supposed to smell like," she shrugged. Cas laughed, and Dean chuckled.

"Well, I guess that's not too bad," Dean said, shrugging. "And I do like pie," he said.

"Oh, me too."

"Yeah, what kind?"

A discussion of pies and different flavors and baking ensued, and by the time Laura had re-entered the room, Dean and Dakota were getting along quite well, with Cas occasionally throwing in his professional baker's opinion. It seemed like too short of a time before they were saying goodbye, promising to come back and visit again soon.

"Wait! I mean, Dean?"

They stopped on their way out of the door, and Dean turned attentively back to Dakota.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Dakota blushed and had to control her giggling before she could talk. "Could you come here?"

Dean decided that she could've asked him for the moon and he would've retrieved it for her-the little girl had roped him in with her witty humor and intelligence, the ability to smile even through the illness, so without further ado he made his way to her bed.

Without warning, Dakota shot a hand up and grabbed him by the jacket, pulling him close. At first he thought she wanted a hug, but Dean realized she had her face buried in the neck of his leather jacket, breathing in. After a moment, satisfied, she pushed him away.

"You do smell like shop grease," she said, smiling sweetly. "Now I know," she stated simply. Dean laughed, and then had a thought.

"Hey, I got something for you." He proceeded to pull off his jacket and hand it over to the young girl, whose eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"For me!? Really, it's mine?" Dakota asked, clutching it tightly, already snuggling under it, a welcome addition to the colorful yet threadbare blankets. Dean figured at this point, he couldn't get it back even if he had wanted to.

"Yeah, for keeps," he said. She thanked him profusely, and tussling her hair, they said goodbye one last time and made their way out of the room and to the parked car outside. Dean finally looked at Cas for the first time since their exit, meeting his eyes over the top of the car.

"Good kid," Dean commented. Cas nodded slowly, and Dean courteously tried to pretend he didn't see the cook wipe a runaway tear off his cheek. A pregnant silence filled the air for a moment.

"She's dying, Dean." Cas looked away, taking sudden interest in the street lamp across the road, not bothering to wipe the second tear off his face, or the third, or any of the ones that followed. "The doctors didn't expect her to live this long. I didn't think I'd get to talk to her again, honestly." Cas looked across the top of the car again, watery blue eyes meeting Dean's green eyes. "You made her day, giving her your jacket," he commented. Dean shrugged-it seemed like such a little thing, all of a sudden. "No, really." Cas fixed him with a sincere look. "It means more than you know."

Dean had bit his lip and nodded. Cas smiled a sad smile and unlocked the car and climbed inside. Dean hesitated a moment, quickly wiped his eyes free of tears and ducked into the car.

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**AN: So yeah. This is taking an interesting turn but I swear it won't be drawn out. I don't want a long drawn out thing, because this is supposed to be short and fluffy and sweet. But hey, it's my plot line and I'll do whatever I want with it. SO yeah. I'll update again soon, probably within the next few days. **

**Love yall ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Quick update. Pretty proud of it, haha ;) I'm just trying to be nice to you guys to counteract the sadness. Sorry I'm not sorry! Usual disclaimers apply :) Also-I have tried to do my medical research and even talked to a nurse friend of mine, but know that I am NOT a doctor and have barely any medical experience, so I can't promise this to be one hundred percent accurate. I did my best though!**

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Before long, Cas and Dean had fallen into a regular routine. Tuesdays and Wednesdays were now mandatory off-days in the shop for Dean, as he accompanied Cas to the shelter long after the scare from the attack had faded. Occasionally they would make an extra trip to the shelter on Fridays to see Dakota.

The little girl was increasingly pale every time they returned. If it was breaking Dean's heart to see it, he could only imagine what it was doing to Castiel.

Cas had explained to Dean that Dakota had Anemia, which meant that her red blood cell production was a lot lower than it should be, and the hemoglobin deficiency that came along with it meant that Dakota had a lack of oxygen getting to her organs. The main worry was with her heart- Cas was quiet about it all, but Dean gathered that there was more to the story than was being told, and there had already been close calls, going by what Cas had said here and there. It wasn't a pretty circumstance, and it took a good amount of self-restraint to question Cas about it. Dean knew they would talk about it when Cas wanted to, and he didn't want to push. The discussion came sooner than Dean had expected, however.

The two always went back to the diner to grab a bite to eat after their visit to the shelter, sitting across from each other in a corner booth and discussing random things-life and people and work, whatever came to mind. Dean looked forward to those nightly chats.

This evening, Cas stopped Dean as they got to the car.

"Let's not go back to the diner," he said, biting his lip. Dean gave him a questioning look. "Let's go somewhere else."

Dean contemplated this for a moment, and decided just to roll with it. "Okay then, where to?" He unlocked the impala and they climbed inside. Cas gathered some of the random trash from the cab and stuffed it in a take-out bag while Dean revved the engine.

"Umm… How about that little coffee shop uptown? The one Pete owns?"

Dean shrugged and pulled onto the road. "Sound good to me." They motored slowly across town. Every now and then Dean would glance over at Cas. While they were in the car, Cas would usually talk about things going on around the diner, or crack witty jokes. Sometimes he'd put an arm on the back of Dean's seat and listen to music. Dean had discovered that Cas had a strong love for blues, especially Ray Charles, and had burned Castiel a CD with tons of Charles' music on it. Cas had been overjoyed, even singing along quietly. Dean thought the cook had a nice voice. Was there anything this wonderful dark haired enigma of a man _couldn't _do? For whatever reasons, tonight was different. Cas stared silently out the window, expressionless face reflected on the dark glass.

They parked in front of a small building on the quieter side of town. The vintage neon _open! _sign blinked cheerily at them from the window as they entered the coffee shop.

"Whad'ya want? My treat," Dean asked. "Hot coffee? Cold coffee? Girly coffee, military coffee, hot chocolate?" He prodded. Cas laughed and glanced up at the menu.

"I'll have a mocha frappucino," Cas told the girl behind the counter. Dean ordered his own drink, what he had given the name of 'inmate coffee'; a half-and-half blend of black coffee and hot chocolate. He explained that convicts in jail drank it on a regular basis because of the lack of sweetener for coffee.

"Hmm. I'll remember that," Cas said. "I don't do hot coffee, generally. Not if I'm looking to stay awake," he said.

"What do you mean?" Dean inquired, leading the way over to a table near the window in the corner of the dimly lit coffee shop. Cas took a seat in the booth by the window, propping himself against the wall.

"Hot coffee makes me sleepy," Cas shrugged. Dean scoffed. "What? It's true!"

"Uh-huh. You do know that the temperature of a drink doesn't change the caffeine content?" Dean asked, smirking mischievously at Cas.

"No way?" Cas opened his mouth in mock surprise. "You don't say! I would've never known…"

Dean shook his head, laughing. "Just saying."

"Yeah, yeah," Cas said, a smile turning the edges of his mouth into a small grin. Just then the girl called out an order. "Oh, that's ours," Cas said. Dean hopped up quickly, retrieving the drinks from the barista and returning to the table. He set Cas' drink down and resumed his position across from the dark haired man. Somehow, it all felt very domestic. Dean had been thinking that for some time now- every time he went out for food with Cas, he couldn't help but feel like they had somehow been doing this for years. Everything was so natural, it just felt r_ight _somehow. There was only one thing that could have made it better, and Dean had been considering that for a while now. He hadn't let on to anyone except for Sam and then Jo, but for quite a while he had wanted to ask Cas out for a real date, to make the whole ordeal "official-official". Maybe he'd do it tonight.

"So, Dean…" Cas started. "I'm sure you want to know why I wanted to come here instead of the diner," he said. Dean shrugged.

"I didn't really think much of it," he answered truthfully.

"Really?"

Dean felt a red tint creep up to his ears even as he spoke. "I don't really care where we go. It's all enjoyable with you." He couldn't believe he, Dean Winchester of all people, was getting flustered. It was just the truth, after all.

Castiel let the small, flattered smile that Dean loved play across his face. "Well, ya know. I am pretty cool," he said, smirking. Dean laughed.

"Ahh, someone's not conceited at all," he teased, chuckling into his drink.

"Nah," Cas laughed. He became serious after a minute, taking a sip of his coffee. "No, really. I wanted to go somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about seeing people we knew," he explained. Dean glanced around the coffee shop, empty except for themselves, a business man in a tie typing furiously away on a high-end laptop, and the lone barista. They definitely wouldn't have to worry about privacy, whatever Cas wanted to talk about.

"I have wanted to tell you for a while now, but I didn't really… I don't know. Umm, I have known Dakota for a while now. You know about her, erhm… condition." Cas shifted his drink from hand to hand, not making eye contact with Dean. "She means a lot to me, because I can relate to her."

Dean frowned. "How so?"

A flurry of emotions crossed Castiel's face, and Dean worried he had asked the wrong thing, but Cas shook his head slightly and took another sip of his drink before setting it down and resting his elbows and hands on the table in front of them.

"Dakota didn't just get anemia any of the more usual ways." Cas spoke slowly, as though thinking each word out thoroughly, inspecting it with a keen eye before saying it out loud. "About two years ago, almost three, they found her on the street, bloody and barely alive. She had to go to the hospital, but nobody was there to be responsible for her, so there was only so much they could do. The doctors managed to skirt around typical procedure and take care of her until she got back to health." Cas worried his bottom lip, taking another sip of his drink. Dean didn't interrupt, knowing this was one of the reasons he had one mouth and two ears, just to listen twice as much as he spoke.

"She hadn't been fed properly in god knows how long, she was hurt and alone, and when she finally opened up to someone, she told them she had been beat. Attacked," Cas said, voice cracking.

"Hey, we don't have to talk-"

"No," Cas cut Dean off. "We do." Cas let out a puff of breath and paused for a minute.

"Who did it, Cas?" Dean asked, so softly that he thought maybe Cas didn't hear him. The answer came eventually, just as softly voiced as the question.

"Her father." Cas gritted his teeth and shook his head shortly. "Stupid, drunk son of a bitch . Beat her half to death and nearly killed her." Castiel's voice cracked again. "He practically did, really."

Dean could see the emotion pooling in tears around Cas' eyes, backed up by the swearing- Dean had noticed Cas didn't swear much, not unless he was really serious or emotional. A thought ran through Dean's head, and he was speaking before he could think about what he was saying.

"Wait, Cas... You weren't… You said you can relate to Dakota? Did your dad…" Dean let the question trail off, catching himself. Cas looked up swiftly, watery blue eyes staring back at watery green eyes.

"No, he didn't hurt me," Cas shook his head. He ducked his head, and when he looked back up, Dean felt his heart creep into his throat at the sight of tears running down Cas' cheeks. Subconsciously, Dean moved his hand over the table, resting it over Castiel's. With his empty hand, Cas wiped at his eyes and sucked in a sharp breathe through his nose.

"Those men that attacked me that night just came to me because they can't get ahold of my dad. He owes them money- a lot of it," Cas said, voice rising slightly. Dean felt himself color visibly with sudden anger.

"And what? He won't pay up, so they came to you?"

"Not for money," Cas laughed. "I mean, I don't have any. They use me as an incentive to get Dad to pay up. Funny, though, 'cause he doesn't really give a damn, so it's kinda ineffective."

"They-are you telling me this has happened before?" Dean faltered.

"Only twice," Cas started.

"Twice? So this is the second time this has happened and you haven't tried to do anything about it?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Third time," Cas corrected. "It's happened twice before. Once was a long time ago, I was only about seventeen. The second time was a good few months before the latest. The police don't have anything to go off, and I can't turn Dad in."

Dean realized he had Cas' hand in a steel grip, and eased up some. Cas glanced down at their hands, but didn't move his, going as far as to swipe his thumb reassuringly across Dean's.

"I would've paid them off, but I've been helping pay for Dakota's bills. The reason I didn't do more damage to the bastards that night was because I felt god-awful," Cas said, shrugging. "The best the doctors can hope for at this point is blood transfusions, and I volunteered. Makes for shaky knees," he tried to joke. Dean shook his head.

"Are you mad?" Cas asked, catching Dean's eyes. Looking into the tear stained face, those bright blue eyes (even more stunning and soul-searching after the crying) staring straight back at him, Dean felt his shoulders visibly drop, tension fleeing suddenly. He was still angry, but only with Cas' father, and he couldn't let that affect how he acted to Cas.

"No, no. I'm really glad you're okay, that's all. I wish I had known you when you were teenager," Dean said. He would've been there for Cas through all that, too. He wished he could've been. Cas smirked sadly.

"Yeah, me too." Cas glanced around the diner, sighing. "I really don't want to go home," he said, turning tired eyes to Dean.

"Okay," Dean said. Wordlessly, taking their barely touched coffee with them, the two made their way to the car. Dean only noticed that they had been holding hands when he had to drop Cas' to go to his own side of the car. He smiled to himself as he got into the impala, despite everything going on.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Cas gave him a slight smile. "Thanks. I'm glad I told you. Feels better," he said. Dean could only return the meaningful look, lost for words.

It was already late when they left the diner, but they spent the next few hours after midnight driving around the city, taking random roads and detours here and there. It felt good just to drive, and this time Cas flipped the radio on and inserted one of Dean's favorite ACDC tracks. They listened to music and drove aimlessly around town, and somehow Dean ended up with his arm across the back of the seat, Cas leaning into the space at his side against his ribs.

Anyone else, and Dean would've hated it. He liked to talk, and often found silence uncomfortable. With Cas, it was different though. That's what made it all so good- it was different. He was perfectly comfortable sitting in silence with Cas. It was enough to just be with him, they didn't have to make conversation to be at ease, they just were. So when Dean pulled up outside his apartment, it was slightly bittersweet. He could've rode around town all night with Cas, but his bed also sounded very inviting.

Dean eventually woke Cas up enough to a point where he could walk into the apartment himself. Dean went straight to his bedroom, Cas trailing groggily behind him. Without much trouble, Dean found a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for Cas. The cook managed to find the bathroom and change while Dean pulled off his work clothes and shimmied into his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants, crawling under the warm covers of his bed. He was vaguely aware that the bathroom door had opened, and rolled over.

Cas stood in the doorway between Dean's bedroom and the little living room. Dean scoffed.

"I'm not making you sleep on the couch," he said, tilting his head slightly to the empty side of the bed beside him. Cas set his folded clothes down on the dresser-Dean noticed the sweats were a little big for Cas, hanging loosely around his hips, and he had to say that his t-shirt did look magnificent on the cook. Cas made his way to the bed, and within minutes they were both passed out. Before long they had moved around enough that Dean was snuggled into Cas' side, an arm wrapped around the cook's torso. It was the most comfortable Dean had ever felt with someone in bed, ever-and also probably the first time Dean had ever slept with someone without banging them from the get-go.

But that was the thing-it was Cas, and it was different. Not that he hadn't cared about the girls he had been with before, as they were all (okay, most of them) lovely, it was just that this wasn't about any of that. It was about the intriguing cook that had grabbed his attention from the start, who cared about people so much that he couldn't pass up an opportunity to help someone. It was about the fact that their clothes knees slotted perfectly together, a leg thrown over a leg here and twisted together there, and somehow their hands had met in the night. Dean went to sleep feeling content, and when he woke up, he was content.

The night was blissful, but shortly so. The next morning came too quickly, a phone ringing waking the two up. It stopped ringing, and Cas shrugged, turning his face to Dean.

"So," he said, a smile decorating his face.

"So?" Dean asked.

"Do we _have _to move?" Cas asked. Dean laughed. The phone started ringing again, and Cas took his time turning to grab it.

"They'll miss you at work," Dean said. Cas laughed.

"I'll tell them I'm sick. Or I died or went to Europe or something, I don't care." He shrugged, flipping open his phone and putting it to his ear.

"Hello?"

Dean watched as Cas' countenance sank from happy to devastated within mere seconds.

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**AN: I know, I'm a sick bastard. Sorry for the ending. This isn't going to be terribly sad, I swear it. Okay, I know it is now, but seriously. It'll be okay. I am writing another fic where I'm having to kill one of them off, so I have to balance it out with happiness over here. Promise it'll be okay :) **

**By the way, that whole thing about inmate coffee-it's true. I have family that works inside a jail. Inmate coffee is legit. And I actually can't drink hot coffee to stay awake, it doesn't help unless I consume massively wrong amounts of it. Cold coffee will keep me up all night, though. So don't laugh. Yeah. Anyway, random personal trivia over. Next chapter in the works and will be posted soon, I won't keep y'all in agony for too long.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hello again my lovelies. :) I have been plotting this chapter for a while now, and wanted to let y'all know that yes, it starts out sad. Yes, it may be sad… BUT-after this it will rapidly become happier and fluffy and more adorable than ever. Sadly the end draws nigh! Anywho, like I've mentioned in every other chapter, disclaimers are the SAME, and umm… Yeah. See you at the end of the chapter**

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Thunder growled moodily overhead, running along the clouds and down through the air to shake the earth beneath. The rain had eased up slightly, misting and dripping drearily as though the sky itself was mourning. Somewhere in the forest that bordered the cemetery, a bird chirped noisily as though completely unaware that it was out of place, happy singing clashing with the sad disposition of the weather.

The bystanders watched the ceremony with sad reverence. There were many more people than would have been expected to be at the funeral for someone with no family to speak of other than the family she had made along the streets. A rag-tag group they were, though dressed in their best. Nobody minded, though. What mattered was their presence. Women and men stood, wiping at the tears racing down their cheeks as they listened to the preacher speak his piece over the open casket.

At the head of the congregated attendees stood two men, watching the proceedings silently. Their dress was different than the others, both wearing clean, dark jeans and white button down shirts, outfits coordinating apart from the jackets they wore. One wore a clean cut trench coat that should've looked out of place (but somehow didn't quite), the other had donned a stiff leather jacket, sitting uncomfortably on his shoulders, new and not having been quite worn in yet. Both wore faces stricken with grief.

It came time for words to be spoken by an appointed person, all having been arranged beforehand. The crowd watched as the pastor closed his Bible and motioned to the men in front, watching as the one in the trench stepped forward. Nobody caught the quick, reassuring hand-squeeze that passed between the men before they separated.

The man ran a hand through his dark hair, flinging tiny droplets of rain from the thick locks. He stood, arms crossed in front of him, contemplating the ground. After a moment he looked up and spoke. "In all the years of my life, I have met only one other person who affected me as much as Dakota did." He paused again, blinking rapidly. "She was an enigma. She was bright and witty, and as you all know, she loved people." A few people murmured in agreement as he continued. "She had so much going for her, so much…" his voice cracked and he paused again, taking deep breaths to steady himself as the tears started to run down his cheeks, leaving wet trails in their wake. "In seven and a half years she impacted people more than most people do in twenty years, thirty, even forty. I know she did me," he said, shrugging. He was silent, as though he was done with his speech. "She didn't deserve this," he said. It was quiet enough that only the people closest heard him, loud enough that people could hear the sorrow in his voice. The preacher clasped him on the shoulder and guided him back to his seat, condoling him quietly. But it didn't matter-they were all pointless words, not changing anything or making him feel better. Cas returned to his seat and Dean handed him the shop towel he had put in his pocket at the last minute. The cook took it without word.

By the time the casket was closed and everyone had dropped their flowers on the lid, it was an oddly bright picture. Irises and tulips of soft pastel colors adorned it, having been by far her favorite flowers, providing a stark contrast to the bleakness of the situation. Just like the amount of people that had attended, it was another representation of the warmth of feeling people had harbored for Dakota.

Dean and Cas stayed until Dean had felt it appropriate to leave. People had all made their rounds, generally avoiding eye contact while shooting one another only brief looks, tight-lipped smiles of sorrow and unspoken words. A lot of hugging went on, mainly among the women. People never really know what to say at funerals, and even if there was something to say, it hardly ever seemed enough. The men shook each other's hands, keeping their emotions in check after the service for appearances sake.

Dean had left Cas in the car for a few minutes, trying to finish the last bit of coordinating with the pastor and the cemetery crew that would take care of the casket. He got things straightened out and hurried back to the impala, sliding in behind the wheel and shutting the door against the cold.

They made their way back to town and to Dean's apartment. Cas had been staying with Dean for the last few weeks anyway and already had clothes and things there, so there was no need to pick anything up from Cas' place. The ride was silent, the radio switched on but turned down low. Cas eventually found Dean's hand resting on the seat between them and interlocked their fingers. Dean absent-mindedly ran his thumb softly over the back of Cas' hand, each lost in their own thoughts.

Since it was the weekend, they had the freedom to do nothing. The majority of the time was spent inside, with Dean occasionally making runs for take-out. They hadn't talked about the funeral, and although neither had any real desire to, they both knew it would need to be talked about before long.

Sunday night television played in the background, some tattoo show Dean insisted on watching, even if it happened to be a rerun. A half-eaten pizza sat in a greasy card-board box on the counter and the mail from the day before sat unopened beside it. Dean walked through the apartment shutting off lights, making his way to where Cas lay snoring on the couch.

"Hey." He nudged Cas with his knee. Cas let out a disturbed grunt and twisted further into the pillow. Dean rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth upturned in what was almost a smile. He bent over Cas and tapped him on the face, getting no response except that Cas shut his eyes tighter.

"Hey you, gotta get up. Can't sleep on the couch all night, sweetheart, we both know how that'll make your neck feel in the morning, and quite frankly I don't want to deal with it," Dean teased. Castiel's eyes finally flittered open and Dean chuckled triumphantly.

"You know you don't mind it," Cas said. "Besides, what if I like getting neck rubs?"

Dean laughed at that. "Oh, so that's it. You just do it for the chiropractor action afterward," he said, giving Cas a hand as he raised himself stiffly from the couch. "See if I help you anymore," he said in mock hurt. Castiel switched off the tv and gave Dean a gentle shove from behind, a small grin decorating his face. On their way down the short hall to Dean-and Cas'-bedroom, they passed the refrigerator. Hanging in a place of honor beside the grocery list was a polaroid picture that Laura had handed Dean before the funeral.

It was a simple picture, but that didn't make it any less treasured. It showed Dean and Cas sitting in the room with Dakota during one of their visits to the shelter. Cas was sitting on the bed beside Dakota, legs crossed indian style. Dakota was propped against her pillows, snuggled into the leather jacket Dean had given her at their first meeting. They were both laughing, Dakota pointing at Dean, who was making a goofy face. It was one of those things that Dean would never, ever get tired of seeing hanging on his fridge when he passed.

Since they were already in pajama clothes, neither man changed when they reached the bedroom. Castiel lay on his side of the bed reading while Dean took his turn in the small bathroom and brushed his teeth, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Finished, Dean shut the light off and made his way to the bed. He stopped by the window, gazing out at the half moon winking at him over the tops of buildings. The one thing he fully appreciated about the little apartment was this one window. It was oddly shaped, wider and taller than the rest, sitting on the wall opposite his bed. Suddenly stricken by the urban magnificence of the town skyline and the dark sky flecked here and there with blinking stars, Dean grabbed the extra comforter from the floor beside his bed.

"What in the world are you doing?" Cas asked, watching as Dean lifted the window sill and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. "It's cold out there, ya know," he stated, not really an objection. Dean shrugged and propped himself in the corner of the window, huddled beneath the blanket with his legs swinging over the window sill. He turned and gave Cas a wide grin.

"Come sit with me!" He whispered. He wasn't sure why he whispered, he did it loudly anyway, but it just added to the oddness of the situation. Cas laughed, setting his glasses on the bed stand along with his book. Sliding out from beneath the covers, he made his way over to Dean.

"It's cold, Dean. Why're we sitting in the window?"

"Because I want to," Dean said, raising his right arm so Cas could snuggle beneath the blanket. Cas perched himself beside Dean in the window, pressed against Dean's side under the blanket. Their knees only just hung over the edge, rubbing together. It was comfortable in a way only two people who were close to each other could be. Leaning against the window sill, Cas' chest quickly became the resting spot for Dean's head.

They sat that way for a long time, only their exposed faces feeling the chill of the night. Dean thought back to that night he had thought about Cas, when he was conflicted between wanting Cas to already be cherished by someone lovely and wanting to be the person treasuring and appreciating the cook. He turned his head slightly, looking up at the Cas from where he rested on his shoulder.

The moon outlined Castiel's sharp figures, from his chin and lips, his nose and long eyelashes to the hair sticking up in every-which way on top of his head. Unaware of his observer, Cas licked the corner of his mouth and bit his lip, sending warmth straight to Dean's stomach. In that moment, he can't be more thankful that he's done this the right way. With Cas, it just isn't about the physical relationship, the sex. All that is secondhand to Dean, sex is easy, nowhere near as important as the emotional aspect of the relationship.

"Cas?"

"Hmm?" Cas looked down, meeting Dean's eyes.

"Umm… There's something I've been meaning to ask you." Dean looked at the moon, a bit of nervousness joining the other feelings flipping around his stomach. "I know we've got, well, this," he gestured to them, "and things, and I mean, it's kind of weird to voice, umm. I dunno, I guess what I'm saying is that we're unofficially official," he said. _Man. That makes sense._

"Unofficially official. I like that," Cas laughed. Dean grinned.

"Well, I'd like to be officially official," Dean said.

"Hmm… I like that even more," Cas said, blushing and smiling shyly. Dean adored that smile- it was humble and shy but flattered, and if he was honest with himself, Dean found it completely adorable. Although you wouldn't find him using that word in an actual sentence, it was true.

"Me too," Dean said. Cas pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead and began to play with Dean's hair, running his fingers through the blond locks. A few minutes later, Cas looked down at him.

"It's all okay, ya know." It was more of a question than a statement, though Cas tried to make his voice sound otherwise. Dean raised himself slowly from his spot against Cas' chest and immediately felt cold. He turned in the window, a leg on either side of the sill so he could face his newly official boyfriend. Cas didn't have to say anything for Dean to know he was talking about Dakota's death.

"Yeah," Dean said, prompting Cas to continue. The cook turned to face him, mimicking Dean's position and further cocooning them in the oversized comforter.

"It was hard, being at the funeral…" Cas trailed off for a second before continuing. "I felt like the one responsible since she didn't have any family there. Kind of like…" he trailed off, looking back at the moon.

"Kind of like a dad?" Dean finished Castiel's sentence for him. Cas looked quickly back at Dean, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek. Dean quickly reached up, brushing it off gently.

"It really bothered me during it," Cas said, allowing Dean to wipe another tear off his nose before it dripped off, and then breathing in hard through his nose and smiling, a genuine smile not prompted by anything Dean had done. Dean was happy to see it for the first time after the funeral. "But now that I think about it, I am honored. Honored to have been the one responsible."

"You did a good job of it," Dean said. Cas laughed, no longer crying.

"I couldn't have gone if it weren't for you being there," Cas said, shrugging like it was no big deal. They exchanged smiles and sat that way for a while, leaning against the window sill facing each other. Dean returned to observing the city lights that had slowly been blinking out, a window here and a window there.

Cas watched as more stars came out, greeting the late night with bright eyes. Occasionally he would spot a shooting star and watch it's journey across the sky, remembering the nights when he was a kid and would sit on the back porch steps with his kid sister. They'd watch the stars and wait until their dad went out for work in the morning before going back in.

Cas turned his face to Dean, who was still sitting across from him, bundled within the warm confines of the comforter. His tan face looked un-ordinarily pale in the moonlight, deep freckles standing out against his skin. He had noticed the 'angel kisses' (as his grandmother used to call them) before, but never so attentively. Cas found himself making a game of counting Dean's freckles-all of them, from his cheek bones to the ones scattered around his lips and up to the ones dancing across Dean's nose. He wasn't sure what number he had reached, not really counting anymore, just documenting and taking in all aspects of each different shaped freckle on his lover's face. Suddenly Dean realized Cas was looking at him, and turned his head reflexively to return Cas' gaze.

"Oh-you moved," Cas said, before he could stop himself. Dean let out a huff of laughter, creating a cloud of breath in the chilly night air.

"Is that a problem?" He asked, eyebrows raised comically. Cas couldn't help but chuckle.

"Actually, yes," he said, leaning forward in the blankets and tugging them closer, simultaneously moving closer to Dean. "I was trying to do something."

"And what would that be?" Dean asked, scooting toward Cas to allow for more blanket to be shared.

"I was counting your angel kisses," Cas said, matter-of-factly. Dean laughed, grabbing hold of the window sill between them to keep himself balanced. "What? You've never heard of angel kisses?" Cas asked. Dean shook his head. Cas smiled.

"Well then, let me explain. These," he raised a finger to Dean's face, gently touching different freckles across Dean's face, "are angel kisses. That's what my grandma always told me," he said, shrugging silently. Their faces were mere inches apart now, and Cas had moved from poking teasingly at Dean's face to cupping it with his hand.

"Mmm.." Dean's voice was soft and thoughtful. "You wanna know what _I _think are angel kisses?" He asked. He didn't have time to complete his thought as Cas leaned into the kiss, feeling the smile on Dean's lips as he returned it. Dean broke away for a moment , the smile not disappearing from his face, and paused to press his flushed cheek against Cas' own cheek as he spoke in Cas' ear, a smirk playing across his face.

"Now yours-those are angel kisses."

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**AN: Told you it'd get happier. **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: After this there will be one more chapter, I think. I must say I'm kind of sad this is coming to a close soon, but I have really enjoyed writing it. I hope I've done it justice for all of you guys who saw the tumblr prompt and wanted this! I haven't really done a lot of AU writing before, just read a ton of them. Anyways :) Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please r&r :) I feed off of reviews!**

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The next week went by fast. They had both taken days off from work after Dean convinced Cas that the diner would survive without him for a while. Tuesday and Wednesday, Cas still insisted on taking food to the shelter, and as always, Dean accompanied him. They didn't stay for long, but Dean knew as time went on and the memories of Dakota's passing were less fresh, their visits would get longer.

On Thursday, Cas made the decision to take up Dean's offer of moving into the apartment with him. He was technically already living there, so it was pointless for Cas to pay his landlord a monthly fee for his own apartment. That evening, Dean decided to celebrate by taking Cas on their first date as an "officially official" couple.

It was without a doubt the best time Dean had ever had on a date. He would never forget it- Cas had worn dark jeans with rips in the knee, a belt that Dean thought he recognized as one of his own. Over a plain white tee Cas had pulled on a dark cardigan that only he could make look that good. His hair stuck up in all directions as usual, and Dean couldn't help thinking how lucky he was.

The movie of choice that night at the theatre had been debated over- Dean wanted to watch one of the new action flicks everyone was going to see, and Cas had wanted to see some scary movie. There was much debate over the issue before Dean finally admitted to be terrified of scary movies due to a comical childhood experience.

They watched the action flick. There was no way Cas could've said 'no' to the look Dean had given him. Dean wouldn't forget falling asleep halfway through the movie and being startled awake to find Cas tossing popcorn at his face to wake him up. After the movie, they had climbed on Dean's motorcycle and made their way to an icecream shop downtown. The night was frigid, but Dean didn't mind the air whipping his face as long as Cas kept his hands wrapped around Dean's torso.

Cas had told Dean to save them a table outside on the veranda and hurried inside to order. He returned a few minutes later, carrying French fries and icecream for the both of them. Dean remembered Cas and Dakota's discussion about going out for French fries and icecream, and a bittersweet happiness swelled in his chest.

That night, Cas introduced Dean to the art of eating fries and icecream together. Dean admitted that it was almost as good as pie. Not quite as good, but _almost._

Once they returned to the apartment it was a whole different story. The rest of the night went by in a slight blur, and Dean couldn't (and wouldn't) have told you all the details the next morning the next morning even if he had wanted to, but he could've told you exactly how it felt. A rush of clothes going here and there to be retrieved later, cast aside quickly by their wearers, and the cold night wasn't so cold when one flushed body met another, the moon from the window illuminating white ribs and hip bones clashing against one another. It was a euphoria neither would forget for a long time, even after their sore bodies had recovered from a night spent on everything except sleep.

The majority of the next day was spent lazily in bed, rain outside pattering across the rooftops and dancing down the window panes, thunder humming quietly in the distance, soft snores floating through the bedroom. Nature's own orchestra.

Dean turned over drowsily, burrowing his way back down in the covers, and Cas pulled the blanket up over Dean's exposed torso. "Mornin', sunshine."

"Mmmm. Top o' the morning to you." came Dean's slow reply. Cas laughed, and Dean blinked up at him. Cas sat up in bed, bare shoulders propped against the headboard with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Dean couldn't repress a laugh when he saw Cas' hair, even wilder than usual if that was possible.

"What's funny?" Cas asked, his eyebrow raising suspiciously.

"Your hair," Dean said. Cas titled his head the side in his classic confused manner. Dean shrugged. "You have sex hair," he said simply. Cas' face remained passive for a moment before breaking out in a wide grin that Dean couldn't help but return.

The weekend went by quickly, too quickly. Saturday was spent moving and clearing out Cas' apartment and bringing the rest of his clothes over and Sunday was spent getting the rest of the stuff he wanted brought over. It wasn't much, but with the rainy weather it ended up taking most of the day. By the time Monday morning rolled around, neither one of them wanted to go to work. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Cas got up earlier than Dean to head to the diner, making sure to be quiet as he got ready for work, only waking Dean when he kissed him goodbye briefly. When Dean got ready to leave for work, he found a covered plate with biscuits and sausage on the counter. A blue post-it note was stuck on the top.

_Thought I would make you some breakfast since I had some time to spare. Have a good day at work, I can't wait to see you tonight._

_-Cas_

It was simple and sweet, just like Cas. Dean stuck the post-it on the fridge and grabbed the plate, making his way outside to the impala.

Once on the road and by the time he was halfway done with his biscuit, Dean picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. The line rang a few times and was picked up.

"Hey there, Yesterday's diner and truck stop," the voice floated over the phone.

"Eric? Hey, this is Dean. Lemme talk to Cas, please." There was a pause, the phone scratched like it was pressed against someone's shirt. Bits of discussion came in before a voice finally spoke.

"Hello?"

Dean smiled upon hearing Cas' voice. "Heya, sweetheart."

"Dean?"

"Yes, who else calls you sweetheart?" Dean teased. He heard a laugh from the other end of the phone.

"Let me send you the list," Cas replied, sarcasm seeping through his voice.

"Ahh, very funny. You're sassy this morning," Dean laughed. "I know you're working, but I wanted to say thanks for the food. It was good."

"Oh! Well, you're welcome," Cas replied. Dean could just imagine the flattered grin that would be decorating Cas' face, and couldn't help but smile as well.

"You know, this whole work thing isn't working. And I haven't even started work for the day!" Dean exclaimed. "Let's just quit. We can run away or something," he teased, keeping his voice serious.

"Let me grab my suitcase," Cas said. Dean laughed, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he pulled into work.

"Well hey, I gotta go."

"Me too, but I'll talk to you later."

"Okay. Bye, love you."

"Love you too."

Dean opened the car door, but instead of getting out, he sat motionless for a moment. He hadn't realized it until afterwards, but that was the first time he had said 'I love you' to Cas. Dean smiled to himself, not caring what it looked like to the outside world. Dean wouldn't stop thinking about it all day. _Cas had said I love you back. _

* * *

"Eric! Need you to take over in here," Cas called. Eric came jogging around the corner, dropping the plates he was carrying into the sink and taking Castiel's place at the skillet.

"Dinner break?" Eric asked.

"Yup," Cas nodded. He untied his apron, hanging it on the hook by the kitchen door. Making his way back through the kitchen, he picked a box lunch out of the fridge and made his way outside to the back of the restaurant. Taking a seat at the lone wooden table, Cas sat and watched the sun sink over the top of the buildings as he ate. Before he finished eating it would be dark, and he'd wish he had brought a thicker jacket.

Castiel pulled his phone from his jeans pocket, checking his unread texts. One was from Jo, saying she'd be in early to work the next day. The other two were from Dean.

_If you buy cookie dough on your way back from work I'll make cookies, _the first text read. Cas grinned, scrolling to the second one.

_Actually I take that back. We'll just eat the cookie dough_.

Cas quickly typed a text back to Dean and set his phone down on the table, digging into the turkey sandwich before him. Looking up from the meal, Cas saw a figure approaching from across the road. The evening light made it hard to identify the person, and Cas felt a chill run down his spine. He glanced at the metal door leading into the diner and briefly considered making his way back inside. The automatic light post beside him switched on, buzzing quietly. The light illuminated the approaching figure and halted Cas' actions as he started to stand.

"Dad?"

The man was indeed Cas' father. It had been almost a year since Cas had seen him last, and it took him a minute to recognize the scruffy man.

"Jonathan Novak, in the flesh," the man said, smiling bleakly and motioning to himself. He stepped forward, raising his arms as if for a hug. Cas reflexively took a step backward, raising his hand slightly. Jonathan shrugged, dropping his arms.

"What do you want?" Cas asked.

"Well, I just came to talk to you, but if you're offering, I could use some money," Jonathan said.

"No."

"Didn't think so," his dad shrugged. "Worth a try."

"I just know you wouldn't come just to talk," Cas said. He watched his dad's face for emotion, but the man kept it a mask of indifference. Cas knew it wasn't really a mask though, not anymore. Years ago when his dad would visit him, they would end up fighting or with Cas in tears, and Dad trying to make apologies but never sticking to them. As time went on, it happened less and less, and it was all Cas could do to keep himself from asking his father if he even felt anymore. He knew the answer, just didn't want to hear it.

"Well, I wouldn't make a bet on it," his dad said, plunking himself down in the empty seat. He tugged on his dirty coat, flipping the collar up against the wind. "I've been doing a lot of stuff lately, trying to get things together here and there, and it just isn't working out."

"No shit," Cas said.

"I don't need your smartass attitude, Castiel," Jonathan said, voice rising slightly. "I'll just cut the BS and get to the point. I'm leaving." He paused, allowing for a reaction from his son. Cas gave him none, crossing his arms silently and leaning against the brick wall. "Leaving, leaving. Tonight, actually. Found some money for a bus and I'm getting the hell out of dodge," he said.

"Found some money?" Cas retorted. He knew better than to nitpick his Dad, but at the moment he was still processing what had just been said.

"Does it matter to you?" His dad said, exasperation on his face. "I didn't hurt anybody, nobody's missing it. It's not like I took _your_ goddamn money, geeze."

Castiel looked up, blood rising in his veins. "No, but it's been attempted before."

"I didn't do it," Jonathan held up his hands in a helpless gesture. "Couldn't stop them," he said. Cas shook his head quickly.

"Whatever," Cas shrugged, adding quietly, "you wouldn't have tried even if you could have done something." He looked up, catching his dad's eye. There was no emotion there, no denial. It was just as bad as if Jonathan had agreed, and it cut Cas to the bone.

"Listen, I've got to be going. They know I'm leaving and although I doubt they'd imagine that I'd come to see you, I don't wanna have to deal with being found," Jonathan said. Never mind that it could mean Castiel being hurt again, no-just as long as he got out of it okay. It had always been that way, though. When Castiel and his sister were younger and still lived with their dad, he had taken his dad's side against the cops countless times, lying to keep his Dad out of jail. He'd gotten good at it, too. It was something Cas wished he hadn't done. Maybe they wouldn't be having problems now if he had just stuck up for himself for once and told the truth about his Dad.

"Where are you going?" Cas asked. He didn't really want to know, just making conversation out of habit.

"Up Boston way, I think. Got a friend who can put me up," he said.

"A friend?" Cas scoffed. "You don't make friends."

"Eh, that's true. I guess you could say a business partner," his dad shrugged, scratching his gnarled beard. Cas laughed, a sour exasperated laugh.

"Business partner-as in some drug lord needs a drug mule," Cas said. Jonathan shot him a hard look.

"Don't embarrass yourself. I'm higher up in the food chain then that," he laughed. "I eat little shits like them for breakfast."

"Right," Cas said. "I forget how wanted you are in the criminal underworld. That's why nobody would ever dare to start carving your son up to get money out of you, or even bother to look for you," Cas said. His nails cut into his palm where he was clenching his fist. "The elusive overlord of all criminal proceedings," he said, his voice colored with mock respect.

"Whatever," Jonathan shrugged, standing up. He looked down at Cas' unfinished food. "You gonna eat that?" he asked. Cas rolled his eyes and Jonathan took that as his sign to take the box dinner. He snapped the lid shut and tucked it under his arm.

"Just came to let you know that you won't be having to deal with any more shit." Jonathan shot him a wink, turning on his heel. "Later, fucker!"

Cas watched his dad turn the corner, disappearing into the dark alleyway beside the diner. Cas breathed deeply, unclenching his fists and sinking to the back porch step. He rested there for a few minutes, elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands. He hadn't been prepared for that confrontation at all, and by the time he had calmed his racing mind to a slow jog, the night had set in around him. Cas reached for his phone and hit the first number on speed dial.

* * *

Dean wiped the grease off his hands and into the dirty shop rag before reaching for his phone.

"Hey, Cas," he answered.

"Hey, umm… Do you have a minute?"

Dean frowned, dropping the rag on the work table beside an open engine he had been working on. There was something in Cas' voice that bothered him.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"Don't freak out, nothing happened, but I saw my Dad," Cas gushed. Dean felt his jaw clench.

"Are you okay?"

"I just said that," Cas said. There was silence from his end, and then a sigh. "Yeah, I'm fine. He came to tell me he's leaving the city."

"Like, leaving-leaving?" Dean asked.

"Yes. He's going to Boston, he said."

"Well, I'm sorry but thank God for that. You shouldn't have to worry about those guys any more than, right?" Dean asked. He made his way outside the bike shop so he could talk in more privacy.

"Right," Cas affirmed. "I just… Is it bad that I feel relieved?"

"Why would that be wrong, angel? You have every right to feel that way. Hell, you have the right to feel however you want!" Dean said.

"I'm glad." Cas' voice cracked, and Dean could hear him clear it before continuing. "I'm glad he's gone."

"Well, me too," Dean said. "Do you need me to come get you?"

"Uhh… No, I'm fine. I might leave a little early tonight anyway," Cas said.

"Okay. If you need me, call me."

"Mmm, I will. Hey, thanks for picking up," Cas said. "I mean, I'm okay now, but I wasn't expecting that. Kinda shook me up, I guess."

Dean wished he could do more, but working separate jobs kinda made wrapping Cas in a protective hug a little difficult to do at the moment. "Eh, it's my job," he teased. "Okay, well I'll talk to you later then," Dean said.

"Okay. Hey-what kind of cookie dough?"

Dean laughed. "Oh, umm… how does chocolate chip sound?" he asked.

"My favorite," Cas replied. "I'll pick some up."

"Man, I knew there was a reason I like you."

With that, their good-byes were said, and Dean went back to work. Watching the clock, he waited until he knew Cas would be getting back to the apartment from work, and then set his tools down and made his way to the office.

"Hey Bobby, I'm finished on that engine. I cleaned it up and it's all ready for Benny in the morning."

Bobby looked up from the paper his was filling out. "Good work. Now those order forms need to be filled out and dropped in the mail."

"Finished 'em already," Dean said, smiling. "And I finished the touch-up on that guy's Harley earlier. She's ready to be picked up."

Bobby eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "You sure are on top of things today," he said. "Got somebody waiting for you at home?" He asked, a light twinkling in his eyes.

"Maybe," Dean shrugged, smiling. Bobby waved him off.

"Go on kid, get outta here."

Dean thanked Bobby and clocked out, grabbing his jacket and hurrying to the impala. It was a strange feeling, going back to his apartment knowing there was someone waiting there for him. Not just any someone, though. _His _someone. Maybe strange wasn't the right word for it, though. It was new, different, and inviting. Dean couldn't explain it, really. For once, it just felt _right._

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**AN: Okay, so I'm pretty pleased with this chapter I guess. Compared to all the other cruel endings, this chapter ending seems sort of low-key, which feels weird to me, but hey, whatever. There will be one more chapter after this, just to finish things all out. It'll be shorter but it'll be good. I've actually already got it almost finished, so yeah. Expect an update in the next few days. Love you guys!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Well, here it is; the last chapter. I really hope you've all enjoyed this and I really loved writing it. I have to say I have quite an unhealthy love for DeanxCas and it's been a blast to write this. **

**Umm, this chapter will be shorter than the last few, but it'll still be good. :) I was going to wait to write this but decided that I'd give everyone an Easter present. So happy Easter, I'm really hoping you all enjoyed this! Please leave feedback, I love to hear from you all. **

**Usual disclaimers apply- sadly I do not own Supernatural or anything affiliated with it, the cast or the writing. I totally wish, but seriously. **

**One last thing- who's excited about this next episode!? :O**

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One thing that Dean loved the most about his relationship with Cas was the simplicity of it all. There were no strings to hold, lines to cross or not cross, no worrying about acceptance. It was stupidly simple, really. But sometimes simplicity can be a disguised form of detailed sophistication. Dean was strange, a unique person with different character-he would admit that freely. He liked motorcycles and blueberry pancakes, and he liked dark haired cooks with a knack for making him laugh. Most of all he liked the lines he would have from those laughs. He liked the memories that would go with them.

Things fell in to place quickly. It seemed easy, really. Dean had never believed in love at first sight and never would. (Cas would try to tell him different.) One thing he did know was that a person could look up and meet someone's eyes and just know without a doubt that that person was going to impact your life. Cas said it was the same difference.

All Dean knew was that he loved it. Whatever you wanted to call it, he was on cloud nine. It was wonderful, all of it; the warmth of Castiel's body pressed against him in the morning, a book propped open on his chest while Cas read. Or their weekend trips on the motorcycle out to the woods, taking different hiking trails together each week, snapping ridiculous pictures of each other climbing trees, laughing and wading through babbling creeks.

Even weekdays weren't that bad. They had figured out work schedules so that they ended up having a day (or two if they were lucky) off during the week to spend together, even if it was just running errands. Then they had evenings and weekends together, which were all spent in bliss.

It had been two months since the night that Cas had seen his dad, also being the last time he heard from him. Eventually an unsigned post-card from Boston came in the mail, officially firming up the matter and settling it for good. Dean couldn't help but hope they had seen the last of the man, for good.

Cas had little to say on the matter, except that he felt extremely liberated. Dean watched as his persona changed, getting more carefree by the day. The trips to the homeless shelter had returned to their usual lengthy visits. Often, midnight would find them sitting on the back stoop of the grimy old building with a group of old men, swapping cigarettes for stories off the street. Cas loved to listen to them talk about their lives. He could listen for hours, sometimes taking up their offer for a cigarette, smoking quietly and listening to their stories. When he got home, he would write down what they had said, sometimes using Dean as a reference. He would tap his pen against his lips and look down at the page, asking Dean about a particular event or person. When he found what he was looking for, Cas would go straight back to his writing. Dean found it all quite old fashioned and endearing. One evening, Cas confessed he was compiling a book about the homeless men's lives, their stories and adventures. Dean was absolutely enthralled, and Cas even went as far as to let him have a copy of what he had written so far, albeit shyly.

Dean couldn't help but laugh sometimes when he thought about how diverse they were. Cas was writing a book, while Dean was teaching the dark haired man to ride a motorcycle. Cas in turn taught Dean how to make omelets, while Dean bought Cas a leather jacket of his own so he would stop stealing Dean's. It was really unbelievable how they balanced each other out so well. When Sam finally met Cas, he had told Dean not to lose him, as Cas was the best thing he'd ever seen for his big brother. That made Dean's day. Sometimes having the approval of a close friend- a brother- means more than anything.

It had been a long day at work for Dean. Since he had walked in at five that morning, he had dealt with an angry customer, a punk who had no idea what he wanted for his bike and wasted a good hour and a half of Dean's time trying to decide what decal he wanted painted on his siding, two biker ladies who had spilled coke in an engine, and the power had shut due to a power line that had been damaged down the street. Damn storm. On top of all that, it was only four in the afternoon. He still had two hours before he was off work.

By the time Dean had finished, he had succeeded in completing two items from his lengthy to-do list. It didn't help any that Bobby came out and gave Benny a lecture in front of the whole crew. Granted, it was Benny's fault. He had half-assed a job and it ended up with a few of the guys having to work together to get it done before they could even start cleaning up shop to work up.

The clock had just struck six thirty when Dean clocked out. He had worked a little later than he was supposed to, but it didn't really matter to him as long as he was done working for the day. Making his way outside, he climbed onto his bike and kick-started the engine. The motor roared to life, settling to a low growl as Dean settled down in the seat. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the handlebar, he laughed. A smudge of grease ran across his face, slightly matting his sideburns. Looking down at his clothes, he realized exactly how dirty he was and briefly considered going to change before heading to the diner. The idea was quickly dropped when his stomach growled in reminder that he had skimped on lunch, busy cleaning out the coke out of the bike engine. Dean motored his way across town, weaving in and out of the regular traffic until he reached the diner.

Before he walked in, Dean could smell burgers and steak cooking. Out of all his smells, that had to be one of his favorites- right up there along with the way it smelled after it rained, the way Cas smelled faintly of campfire smoke and fresh bread, and the way an old garage smelled of car grease and metal parts. He breathed the scent in deeply, making his way through the diner doors.

At first glance, Dean knew his cook wasn't in the room. He returned a wave from Jo, shooting her a smile as she took a customer's order. Eric appeared briefly, rushing from one room to another carrying a stack of loaded plates. Content to wait until Cas was free, Dean made his way over to his usual corner booth.

As he neared the table, a wide, surprised grin settled across his face. Sitting down at the table, he picked up a fork and looked at the large slice of apple pie sitting on a plate in front of him, steam still rising from the edges and neat slits across the golden brown top. Besides the pie there was a rootbeer with a blue bendy straw. Dean laughed, running a hand through his hair. Across the room, Cas looked through the kitchen window, meeting Dean's smile with one just as bright.

If nothing else had said anything about them, if there was nothing else that had happened, that would've settled it. In that moment, Dean knew he was hopelessly in love with the dark haired cook. And he was perfectly okay with admitting it.

* * *

**AN: Like I said, sorry it's short. But I'm content with this ending and I really, really enjoyed writing this. Thank you all for the reviews and for the favorites, and the ones I've been talking to. (You know who you are :) This is the last chapter for this story, but I've been working on another one so that'll be up soon. Anyway, thank you all so much. I hope I've done the tumblr post justice by you guys, hahaha :) **

**-love y'all, **

**Ash**


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